


Trauer

by rainpie



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Study, Historical Hetalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 00:14:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4413485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainpie/pseuds/rainpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trauer - A feeling of deep distress suffered by oneself or others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trauer

In an empty moor stands a boy, barely even old enough to be capable of balancing himself on his own two feet. In the moment that he takes a step forward he seals his own fate, begins a tragic tale without a conclusion and a life that would never come to an end.   
  
"Ich bin Ludwig."   
  
Years later and the boy, now a teenager, curls his blood-stained fingers into fists, soaked in the blood of his own people, his children, his _life_ , who have battled in the name of a God whose existence he is uncertain of - yet still turns to for mercy and guidance.   
  
More years go by. _The Great War_ , as they called it, was nothing more to him but a bloody massacre and an aching heart, a thousand nights spent desperately weeping and begging for help from the God that he has been taught to worship, whose lordly voice that had once screamed itself raw and hoarse telling Ludwig's people to kill under his name which now barely offers a whisper of comfort to his broken heart.    
  
Even more years pass and he watches millions of lives fall for the second time, humans with dreams and passions that are nothing but innocent, dying on his soil for what he has been told was only for the good of Germany, himself.   
He _knows_ that this is wrong and yet stands silent to their screams, fearing what would happen to them while rebuking his own cowardice to revolt against his leader. His own lack of response is rivaled only by that of the God to whom he cries out for help yet again, only to receive an echo of his own crushing silence.   
Twice now he has stood by as the most violent acts of bloodshed took place and he has still done nothing about it.   
   
It haunts him to this day, because the grim reminders are everywhere.  
References cast for cheap laughs in films, a poster, an abstract piece of "deep" modern art. An artist, a poet, a survivor.  
  
Countless times he's been told that it's not his fault, while the remaining instances claim that it is. He is more inclined to believe the latter.  
  
And selfishness is what he calls his feelings of grief, the longing to repair and the longing to save human life. His own people, and those who have suffered because of them. Mortals were made to die, they say - but not like _that._   
Never like that.  
  
And to this day he stands a failure - the lesson has been learned, but by now it's too late.   
He knows now not to ask for help anymore. There is no God to save them; there never _was._


End file.
